


Love in a time of War.

by One_Real_Imonkey



Series: Jangobi Week 2021 [7]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Obi-Wan Kenobi, Child Death, Cultural genocide, Dark, Dark Satine Kryze, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Execution, Fluff and Angst, Genocide, Happy Ending, Hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jaster Mereel Lives, Kissing, Mand'alor Jaster Mereel, Mandalorian Obi-Wan Kenobi, New Mandalorians (Star Wars), No actual Rape/Non-con, Obi-Wan Kenobi Gets a Hug, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Planet Mandalore (Star Wars), Planet Melida | Daan (Star Wars), Protective Jango Fett, Refugees, Romance, Slavery, Soft Jango Fett, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, War, Weddings, dark new mandalorians, new mandalorians are evil, space racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:48:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29271999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/One_Real_Imonkey/pseuds/One_Real_Imonkey
Summary: Day 7- happy Ending.The True Mandalorians were so busy with Death Watch, the sudden turn by Satine Kryze and her New Mandalorians nearly destroyed everything.Obi-Wan had been a Mandalorian since MeliDaan had left the Republic and joined Mandalore.He was happy to fight by Jango's side, but while Jango was the Mandalorian he loved, Jango wasn't the only Mandalorian enamoured with him.
Relationships: Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: Jangobi Week 2021 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138511
Comments: 14
Kudos: 391
Collections: Jangobi Week





	Love in a time of War.

**Author's Note:**

> Day 7- Happy Ending.  
> Imma warn you now, when this says happy ending, I took that literally, the ending his happy, the rest... so/so.  
> For the Rape/Non-con tag, it doesn't happen, but there was a situation where it could have and Jango worried.  
> For the rest, this has some things with a World War 2 influence, because it's war and thats the war I've studied. The idea of devastated towns, cultural eradications, spy networks and smuggling refugees.  
> Nothing too graphic, I don't think, but it's darker than my usual stories.  
> However, it does also have some sappy moments and some cutsie stuff and as I said, the ending is happy.  
> I don't own.  
> Please enjoy...

Jaster met Obi-Wan when he was at 17-year-old boy negotiating his planet and people leaving the Republic to join  Mandalore . The horrors on  MeliDaan had been  unaddressed by the  Republic and Senate to little when they were occurring, and even once they were over, they’d received no aid, nothing to help the  ade who desperately needed their help.

Jaster had welcomed them with open arms, as a sovereign system under  Mandalores protection and while he did not ask a single one of them to swear to him as the Mand’alor, many did. Too many children who’d grown up in so much war, they could not find peacetime comfortable, and with so many other people needing help in the wider galaxy, they had begged be allowed to fight.

As long as they were over 13, he could not stop them.

Obi-Wan was a strong ally, and  MeliDaan’s representative to  Mandalore , as well as one of their strongest fighters and tacticians. As time went on, Jaster found himself valuing his opinion on strategy, and acting as Clan head for  MeliDaan , he ended up in Jaster’s Court, and a member of his Council by 22.

He'd also been quite helpful in teaching Jaster how the  Darksabre actually worked, which was nice, because he’d kind of had it sitting on his belt since his victory on Korda 6 without any clue how to actually  wield a Kyber based weapon.

Jaster didn’t know quite when Jango fell head-over-heels for Obi-Wan, but somewhere along the line, it had happened.

Before he’d realised, part of him had wondered if his son was ever going to be interested in anyone beyond a casual fling. There was nothing wrong with that, he certainly hadn’t been, but he’d had to wonder. Jango was 24, and most  Mando’ade knew they wanted longer term relationships and had tried them by 18. 

Watching Jango sneak into the gardens with Obi-Wan and a picnic had been an eye opener, but to see such adoration and joy on his face, especially in such dark times, had been a gift from the Manda.

Hells, Obi-Wan had been a  gift from the Manda.

And times were dark.

He and the Haat Mando’ade had been so worried about the threat Kyr’tsad poised, less than it had been when Tor Vizsla had been their leader, but growing again with more co-ordinated attacks and battles, they’d missed the growing danger from the New Mandalorians until it was too late.

Satine  Kryze , the unrelenting pacifist who had otherwise seemed willing to compromise and work  alongside them, had snapped, and overnight, all the New Mandalorian provinces had fallen under martial law, and then they’d started expanding outwards. She wanted her new  Mandalore , she wanted her version of peace, and she was going to commit a genocide to get it, if she had to.

Overnight, tens of thousands of  Haat’ad , fighters or no, had been forced to flee their homes, sometimes with little more than the armour on their backs.  Keldabe , Concordia, Concord Dawn, they’d all swelled in population size with refugees, and  MeliDaan , still primarily occupied and run by children, had started tasking in any  ade orphaned by the attacks, from any clan or any prior affiliation who’d had nowhere else to go. The  ade with no clan left, and later into the war, the ade evacuated from the larger cities. 

The war with  Kyr’tsad had ended just as abruptly, with the members of both either joining  Kryze’s armies, or the Haat’ad. The battles were brutal, both sides vying for every settlement, every mile of ground or space. The Haat’ad for freedom, the New Mandalorains for control. 

Clan Rook had tried to stay on their own land, in their own homes, despite being near the heart of New Mandalorian space. bitterly resolute that they would not run, and that they would not sacrifice their  virtues for any pretender on the throne. Three days after Dutchess  Kryze’s announcement, their bodies swung from the balconies of their Town Hall. 

All of them.

So yeah, anything that put a smile on his Jango’s face nowadays was precious.

It wasn’t all bad, more than half of  Mandalore was free, and despite battles all over the sector, the New  Mandalorians weren’t gaining ground. In fact, they were slowly losing it. If you weren’t watching the news, if you ignored the extra guards, in some  cities life could almost feel normal.

As the  Mand’Alor , he wasn’t afforded that luxury.

He had to think about his people, his clans. He had to think about the clans that wanted to stay neutral, the Old Clans who did not want to be drawn into a side where atrocities were committed with the propaganda war as it was, the clans that did not believe in either side’s policies. Jaster refused to let them be killed either.

The war raged on, and part of him mourned the girl Satine had been. Resolute, yes, but he would never have thought her capable of this. Not the girl that had played with Jango when he was small, not the young woman who’d had a crush on Obi-Wan when he’d first come to them, keen on knowing a Jedi’s view on peace.

Somewhere, she’d started preaching cultural genocide, and now she was taking it one step further. Adoni would be broken to see what his daughter had become.

Times were dark, but life often provides a light if you know where to look.

And a Royal wedding is a huge morale booster.

.

.

.

Jango didn’t know how he’d managed to win Obi-Wan's heart, but he was forever  grateful to have it.

To have someone to hold on the worst nights, when scouts failed to return or whole towns were lost, the bodies of  ade discovered murdered just as the adults had been. To have someone on the good days, when battles went well, and they could celebrate, when survivors were brought to safety or  towns liberated.

To stand side by side, arms around each other’s waists, standing over the  holomaps drawing up  strategies .

Even Myles’ teasing didn’t dampen the feeling of having Obi-Wan by his side.

“Our enemies can never know," he’d joked, “that our powerful and undefeated prince goes soft as putty for his cyare.”

Jango didn’t much care. To be a Mandalorian  riduur , the old texts said, was to be relentless in battle and the defence of your family, but soft and loving at home.  Safety is as much about comfort as it is about being defended.

Most of the New Mandalorian propaganda on that front ended up a useful tool for them in that aspect.

The wedding had been a source of great guilt for him, because of course he wanted to marry his cyare, of course he wanted to have a huge wedding, but people were suffering, dying, and they were throwing a party...

It was Obi-Wan who curled into him and calmed his mind, convinced him that people would probably like a chance to celebrate, something to bring joy in the dark times. A sign of hope and joy.

The wedding was huge, which he supposed was to be expected, and security had never been tighter in  Keldabe . His Buir had been the first to suggest having the wedding elsewhere, Concord Dawn or even  MeliDaan , and he wasn’t the only one to make that suggestion, but as Obi-Wan successfully argued, they had their city, they knew their city, and to leave their city for this was a sign of weakness. They could argue Obi-Wan's time on  MeliDaan or Jango’s first home being Concord Dawn as reasons to hold it there instead, but everyone would know the truth behind it... 

Every Royal Marriage in centuries had been held in the grand halls of  Keldabe . To break that tradition, to hold it anywhere else, it would send a message of weakness. That they were scared, that they were hiding, that they could be chased away.

They would not be scared out of their home.

He hadn’t realised weddings had so many messages to send, so many  nuances and details, but Obi-Wan had, and was working with the organisers, the Councils and well, anyone who was needed, to craft the perfect image, with the right messages, for now, and for later. 

He hadn’t even considered later, considered how this would be viewed and analysed in the history books, how much each subtle choice would mean. Another reason he adored his ven’riduur. Even little things, like not fixing their armour’s dents, not repainting the scuffs. It should be clean, it should gleam, but if it had the damages of the war, if it represented them was the warriors they were, they had to stay. It would be a powerful message. Too many times, the leaders did nothing, stood by and let other people get their hands dirty. They were leading from the front; they saw the battles... side by side, and the galaxy would know it.

The worries of state faded away at the sight of his gorgeous  cyare in full  beskar’gam minus the  buy’ce which was under his arm, pure white cloak rippling behind him. For the whole ceremony, nothing existed but his  cyare , his warm,  un-gloved hands as they traded vambraces, his bright loving eyes as Jango places the circlet on his head, marking him officially as the  Riduur’be’Alor’Ad .

At some point during the party, Obi-wan had lost his cloak, somewhere in the dancing and drinking and feasting. Their armour was very good at regulating temperatures to keep them comfortable, but once the sun had set and the night drew in, he took great pleasure in draping his own crimson cloak over Obi-Wan's shoulders and stealing a kiss as he did so.

He took even greater pleasure in seeing him in nothing but the cloak the next morning, leaving their bed and pacing across the room to see why Jango had left the bed. It would be scandalous for anyone else to see him in nothing but the red cloak, for many reasons, and Jango knew no-one ever would if Obi-Wan had his way. It was a view for him alone.

Obi-Wan liked being covered, full  Beskar’gam , long sleeved tunics, outfits that covered pretty much everything. He assumed it was something from his time fighting on  MeliDaan with their makeshift armours that covered as much skin as possible to protect them from dust and chemical and fire or as a  Jetii , with those overcomplicated full robes, but he knew there were  Jetiise who wore outfits that showed more skin too, and many  MeliDaan who liked to wear less now the risks has passed so maybe it was just Obi-Wan's preference. 

He simply  preferred clothes that covered up, the same way someone like  Oderf Jai seemed to take every opportunity to show off his skin and muscles as possible. It meant he would be one of the only people in the universe who got to see his  cyare’s bare chest,  bare arms, bare legs. To see his muscles and his scars. He cherished the closeness.

Beskar’gam was very useful for someone who liked to cover up, they’d joked.

In another time, seeing Obi-Wan in his cloak alone would have been reason to ignore his work and return to their bed, but the war didn’t stop, especially not for his happiness.

Every day his greatest happiness could be stolen from him.

Jango’s biggest fears came from two of Obi-Wan's biggest jobs.

He liked to run rescue missions, humanitarian efforts, not to fight necessarily, though he could if he had to. Moving  ade with help from resistance groups within the New Mandalorian spaces, despite the risk it posed. Those missions had less people, sometimes he was alone or with one or two other  verde and until they made it back into camps or behind safe lines, Jango fretted.

Worse, were the diplomatic missions. Clans changing sides, neutral ones asking for help, or peace negotiations, prisoner exchanges, surrenders of whole New Mandalorian colonies... Obi-Wan's biggest strength was his diplomacy. He attended almost all of them.

He'd love to say neither side was above assassination, but that was a lie. His side was above assassination, their side just weren’t very good at it.

None of the assassins at his  wedding had made it passed the outer  guards .

Sometimes, there would be attempts to sue for peace, negotiations for one side or the other to surrender areas, attempts to end the war, typically started by  Kryze . They humoured them, mainly because it gave them a chance to gauge the mentality of  Kryze and her people, where they held valuable things they didn’t want to reveal as valuable (areas they weren’t willing to concede at all were a good sign) and while it wasn’t traditional for  Mandalorians to take a throne through a negotiated surrender when both sides were matched rather than just winning outright or getting a surrender when the other was too weak to keep fighting, to end the bloodshed, Jango would take it.

The issue with those, was not even the threat of assassination, but the way Kryze looked at his riduur.

Like he was a trophy, a decoration, and one she would rather like to have. 

It wasn’t just Jango who had seen it, Myles had come to him to warn him and several  verde who protected him, officially or otherwise.

He didn’t believe for a second that Obi-Wan didn’t know. His  riduur was too smart and too observant not to, but he never mentioned it.

That didn’t mean he hated it any less. No-one should be allowed to look at his Obi-Wan like that except him, and even he would never look at Obi-Wan as anything other than his beautiful, precious, powerful, brilliant, star of a riduur.

It was not a coincidence that the war escalated the same day she made a comment about Obi-Wan becoming hers, her prize when the war was over, taken from beside his broken body to warm her bed and decorate her throne.

Even the oath of non violence at these peace talks couldn’t have stayed his hand at her remark, quiet and casually spoken, as if she was discussing the weather or crop counts and not one of the vilest outlawed practices of old.

If Myles hadn’t pulled him away, he’d have killed her, he didn’t need weapons. 

“Jango, you can’t go killing people at peace talks. We attended under a flag of truce, we are not honourless enough to break it.”

“Didn’t you hear what she said.”

“Yes, I did. But they’re empty threats. Obi-Wan is safe, they haven’t won the war.”

“They’re not going to."

“We’ll stop sending Obi-Wan to negotiations, we’ll give him more guards. He's a good fighter, he had a brilliant  strategic mind, Jango, he’ll be ok.”

“She wants my husband as a War Prize!”

“I know. But she wants a lot of things.”

“She dares...!”

“Jango, do you have recording of her saying so?”

“Of course, we record everything in these meetings.”

“The Old Clans, the neutral ones, they loathe the practice of taking their enemies spouses or family members are War Prizes, they’re the reason it was outlawed, the reason the vile practice ended. They won’t take kindly to anyone threatening to bring that practice back.”

“They’re neutral for murder of  ade and other war crimes, you think this will be their tipping point.”

“There’s a difference. Technically we’ve never been able to prove  Kryze ordered those attacks, just as they’ve never had proof of the  things she’s accused us of. Both sides are making accusations of atrocities, just because they’re the only ones committing them, doesn’t change that. We have proof of this one, official recordings and the words from her mouth. The Old Clans have been caught on the wrong side of conflicts before.”

Myles had been right, with Obi-Wan's permission they released the audio, the proof of  Kryze’s attempted claim of Obi-Wan should the war turn her way, and had been the tipping point for an even more brutal level of war.

War Prizes were one of the vilest things in the galaxy, as far as  Mandalorians were concerned. It was basically a form of slavery, it often included rape, it was a mutilation of the Riduurok... the mention of it, not even the suggestion of it, made most Mando’ade sick.

He held Obi-Wan close that night, and wished the war would end.

It didn’t.

.

.

.

Obi-Wan mourned the person Satine had been.

She had once been kind, her opinions driven by compassion and a genuine want to help people. He'd admired her ideas, even though he hadn’t agreed with them. He's simply seen too much war,  too much horror, to believe standing aside could ever be the right thing to do.

People had stood aside on  MeliDaan , and children had been brutalised and slaughter. He hardly believed in rampant violence, and the feeling of death was horrific in the Force, but  self-defence and the defence of others were necessary, or those with evil in their  hearts would win.

He wondered what had happened to change her so.

Wondered it as he entered the abandoned village of Hojaverde, to meet with their contact and smuggle another group of refugees to safety. They were mostly Nautilan,  Torgruta and  Pantoran . Apparently, New  Mandalore had no space for diversity and while they’d been allowed to live, they’d basically been slaves in New Mandalorian compounds. He had known Satine harboured some racial preferences towards human-superiority, but he’d never have dreamed her capable of this.

He wondered how long human- adjacent species like his  had , before they too were being subjugated or killed for who they were.

Their contact didn’t greet them, and it put him on alert. Something was wrong. 

They had to rescue these people, but he also had to keep his own safe.

Could they simply be late, no, they’d already settled in the night before. Maybe they were just checking the coast was clear...

The warning of ambush came too late.

They'd known they were coming, known he was coming, because on top of ambushing them, all their weapons were on stun, taking down his entire squad with no  fatalities .

The first stun that hit him caught his shoulder, and between the  beskar and the Force, it knocked him down but didn’t knock him out.

He wondered if they were going to be executed once they were down but there was  nothing he could do but watch as they rounded up and gathered the children of the refugees, his contact and his  verde , loading them up onto the transport. He could do nothing at all as the adult refugees were lined up against a wall and executed. He wasn’t sure how the one that came to pick him up knew he was still conscious, but the second stun shot was delivered to his face.

He woke up in a cell.

He woke up in a cell, cold.

He woke up in a cell, cold and alone.

He wasn't in his armour, though he had rather expected the  beskar’gam to be taken. However, the unnerving thing was that he also wasn’t in his  kute . Someone had completely changed his outfit while he was unconscious, and he didn’t much like what he’d been redressed  into .

Instead of the heavy comforting weight of the  cortosis weaved  kute , that covered him neck to toe in protective material, ok he could see why they might not want him in it, he was in, well, mostly it was shorts.

They were golden, and he wasn’t sure if that was a comment on vengeance or not, and came down to his mid thighs. The rest of him was technically covered, just in thin, see-through, gossamer fabrics that wrapped and flowed. They fastened to him at the thick  beskar collar on his neck, wrists and ankles and were various shades of green, silver and gold. They technically covered him enough to be considered decent in Satine’s Court, but if they shifted even  slightly they revealed skin, like the ‘ sleeves ’ and ‘trousers’ that were two separate strips per arm or leg that connected at the neck or shoulder and at the wrist/at the hip and ankle. The ones on his chest were larger, but similarly revealing.

Green, silver, gold.

Duty, seeking redemption, vengeance.

Oh yeah, this was sending a message alright.

He knew Satine saw his choosing Jango and the  Haat’ad over her and the New  Mandalorians as a slight against her. He'd never loved her, but he knew she had once harboured a crush on him. His falling in love with someone else had been a betrayal, and now he was supposed to seek his redemption and do his duty, while she gained  vengeance for his leaving.

The  beskar cuff on his neck was not solid beskar, though he couldn’t feel a crack when he ran his hands over the outside, except for the link where the chain met the collar, which he guessed was likely where the pieces came together too. The inside, he knew, contained some form of Force Dampener and if he had to guess, probably some sort of shocking device. 

His hands and feet were not restrained together, the cuffs on them more symbolism and part of the outfit than actual restraints, he suspected, though there was a chain from the one on his neck to the wall. He was also barefoot, which was either an oversight, or on purpose to demean him further. 

He was dressed like a trophy, like a prize.

It wasn’t long before guards came for him, unlocking the chain and hauling him out of the cell. He stumbled along, not willing to lose his feet at the risk of being dragged.

Instead of being taken to Satine or the Throne Room or somewhere like that, he was being taken deeper into the prison, he assumed to interrogation. He didn’t think they were above torture, although he  doubted they referred to it as such. 

It was not  interrogation .

It was a viewing room looking into what looked like a barracks, containing... the children. The refugee children, all with collars around their necks that he knew from experience delivered a powerful shock when triggered.

Kriffing huut’un’la bastards.

He scanned the room, hoping for his own  verde to be there too, a chance that they might be alive, but it was just the ade.

“You getting the picture yet, highness. We have hundreds of your people, thousands, all prisoners, all like these ones. You put your life on the line to save these kids, you’re ‘loyal’ to your people, I'm willing to bet you’ll not want to risk them harm, no?”

“Demagolka.”

It was barely more than a mutter, and one he hadn’t meant to slip out, but the guard grinned and all the collars went off, only a short burst, including his own. His knees connected with the cold floor with a jolt as the shocks ended and he gasped. On the other side of the, he guessed, one way window, the ade were suffering the same.

He dropped his head.

“Apologise for insulting me, highness.”

He wanted to kill the man, he wanted to tear off his parts and watch him bleed out, but he held his tongue. He couldn’t risk the  ade being tortured. He just couldn’t.

But he’d hesitated too long, and before he could open his mouth, their collars were set off again, theirs, not his. He wanted nothing more than to run in there and comfort these children, wipe away their tears and whisk them away to safety.

“I... apologise.”

“For? What are you apologising for?”

“I apologise for insulting you.”

“Good, you can learn.”

A hand gripped the chain near the back of the collar and yanked, pulling him back to his feet.

“Time to go meet the Dutchess, highness.”

Again, he managed to stay on his feet, just, to be taken up to the Throne Room.

It was a beautiful room, he supposed, had it not been created to replace a culturally important place, rewriting her peoples history for her own uses.

The path to the throne was lined with carpet, with guards and courtiers lining the walls.

And his  verde in chains held on their knees by New Mandalorian soldiers, one on each side, stripped of their armour but not their kute’e.

Their eyes widened with horror and shame as they each spotted him, as he was dragged to the base of the  dais that held the Dutchess’ throne and thrown to his knees.

The room was completely silent.

“Ah, my dear Obi-Wan, I have missed you."

“Dutchess  Kryze , it has been a while indeed."

She rose from her throne, and stalked down the stairs to him, cupping his face and pulling him upwards.

“You will do what I say, my dear,” she whispered into his ear, a tone he was sure no-one else could hear, “you’re mine, not his. You'll kneel by my throne, unless I say otherwise, and I know you know what will happen otherwise.”

Then she dropped him back to his knees and stepped back.

“Do you agree, my dear?”

“I will do what I must to protect my people.” 

He saw his  verde’s heads fall at his  announcement , but he knew it was the right thing to do.

For his  verde , for his people, for those  ade ...

He'd do anything.

He settled at the side of her throne, the thin fabric doing predictably little to keep out the chill from the floor, and tried not to flinch at she bound the chain from his neck to the small hold for it on the side of her throne, nor when a hand brushed through his hair.

For his verde, his people and those ade.

He’d do anything.

.

.

.

Ursa Wren had seen and lived many things in her life, and this war had brough them too many battles and too many atrocities. She was only 20, her mother hadn’t endured this much in a life twice that long, or so she’d said by Ursa’s sickbed after a brutal battle one time.

She's seen a lot, but nothing had put a crack in her spirit like seeing their Alor’ad’s riduur in chains, hauled to his knees in front of the dar’manda Kryze.

To see him bow his head in submission, to see him bow to protect their own.

Stripped of his armour, stripped of his pride, chained and collared, he held his head up as best he could and acted for their people.

There was a reason she followed  Mereel , Fett and Kenobi, and this was an example of why.

She knew he was under the same threats they were,  ade enslaved and to be harmed if any of them made a bad move.

But their  Alor’ad would be furious.

She was furious.

She remembered the first time Kryze had dared suggest taking their Alor’ad’s riduur as a War Prize, a vile thing, remembered his fury and rampant protective attitude, the way he refused to leave Obi-Wan’s side for days and snapped at anything he perceived as even a slight threat.

Ursa had researched War Prizes, actually having known very little about them before  Kryze had made her claim, learnt that they had been used as a power play by the cruellest of the clans in wars past, forcing their opponent loved ones into subservience to show their dominance and strength and power. Similarly, it was to keep their enemy clans in line, because family of the Clan’s Alor would be able to rally attacks or fight back or ask for help from other clans. If you kept them as your prisoner, you kept them under control, and similarly, it meant you had more people working for you, rather than having to destroy the other clan. On top of that, the threat to the clan was enough to keep the ‘Prize’ subservient, because compliance saved their people, and that was what mattered to good clan leaders.

To see her demean his  riduur in such a way, in so many ways, she’d  lose her head for sure.

She knew them  well enough; she’s been working with Obi-Wan for years on rescue missions, and she knew that Obi-Wan literally never wore short sleeves or shorts if he had a choice, and the outfit they’d put him in... it would be disturbing without that. She could see the discomfort on his face, though she supposed the whole situation could be part of that.

Kriff , honestly, she was relieved that he was still alive. When they’d first woken, he hadn’t been with them, and when they’d been taken to the throne room, they’d assumed he’d be there, but he hadn’t. For five hours they’d been kneeling in place on the hard floor, listening to  Kryze issue orders and preach and prance.

She could manage being held here, kneeling, if it meant she had a clear line of sigh to him. It was so very little, but it was something.

Still, it took all her self-control and restraint to not throw herself at  Kryze when she started petting his hair, his face falling into the false calm she knew was a meditation to remove himself from a bad situation.

This wasn’t the first time they’d been captured together, but they’d never been in a situation like this before. It was never in the heart of Sundari, never with  high-ranking enemies.

She knew that he would endure  anything to protect their people, but she wished she’d never had to see it, and that he’d never have had to do it.

The next prisoner they dragged in was Bo.

Bo-Katan, one of her oldest friends, one of her best friends.

One of her bravest friends.

Bo-Katan  Kryze , who had stayed behind when her sister fell into this madness so she could  help her people, hidden her armour, run rebel cells, rescues refugees and slaves and prisoners.

Lived with the constant risk of being found and executed.

Lived with her sister.

She'd been their contact for Hojaverde, the one bringing the refugees they’d been so close to saving. And she’d been captured in full Beskar’gam.

“Satine.”

“Bo-Katan, you were my sister, I trusted you. You have betrayed me, betrayed us all.”

“Betrayed us, Satine, this is genocide. I’m only trying to protect my people. You are the traitor, abandoning our peoples’ ways, abandoning out people. Look around you, where will it end.”

“Enough. You have betrayed our clan and out ideals; you will suffer the consequences of your actions.”

Oh  kriff , oh Ka’ra, hadn’t she lost enough friends in this war, without watching Bo be executed here.

“Take her away. Cage her on the Northern Point. For what you have done, Bo, you will not be granted a swift death.”

“ Haat ,  Ijaa , Kote. Munit  oyacyir Mandalore.” (Truth, Honour, Glory. Long live Mandalore.)

There was nothing she could do as they dragged her friend away.

Nothing at all.

.

.

.

If he was asked, Jango would absolutely admit that he was fretting.

Well, actually he’d probably deny fretting and leap straight to panicking, because Obi-Wan and his squad hadn’t returned and his  riduur was missing and...

Jango wanted Obi-Wan back.

He didn’t want an empty village marred by blaster fire, rows of civilian bodies left where they’d been executed, a message from a spy confirming Obi-Wan was in Sundari.

Holo footage from within Satine’s Throne Room, his  riduur on his knees next to her throne, chained up, head hung, that outfit, her hand in his hair...

“I’m taking her head.”

“Not alone you’re not. We need to plan this out.”

“She has him, Buir, I failed him, I didn’t protect him.”

“It’ll be ok,  Jan’ika . We'll work out a plan, we’ll take the city.”

“What if we’re too late?”

“ Jan’ika , your  riduur is one of, if not the, most important bargaining chips on the board. She won’t kill him because she’d lose that. If he dies, so will she, she knows that, but as long as she has him, she believes she can make demands of us.”

“Alor,  Kryze’s court had another prisoner dragged in, she just sentenced her own sister to  death .”

Jango’s heart broke. His  buir might be right about their treatment of Obi-Wan with a rational enemy, but  Kryze was not  rational . 

“Why would she do that?"

“Bo-Katan was one of the people smuggling  ade out to us. Refugees in general. She got caught.”

“She just murdered her own sister and still she calls herself a  pacifist .”

“No violence if there’s no-one left to oppose you.”

“She’s also not dead yet, she was sentences to a cage, which means she’ll be locked up and hung in a public area until she dies, dehydration or starvation... it’s just cruel.”

“But it gives us a chance to save her too, when we retake Sundari.”

Jango felt he was only half there as they planned their assault.

Obi-Wan had been taken three days ago, yet this was the first day he’d been lauded in front of  Kryze’s court, which likely meant he’d spent some time in transit or prison. They'd been trying to track them for days before the broadcast showed where he was for certain.

Now they had to get him back.

Their spies were working overtime,  information flowing. 

It quickly became clear that if they wanted to get him out, they could have to go through  Kryze , because Obi-Wan wasn’t allowed from her side. If she was in her throne room, he was on his knees by the throne. If she was in her office, he was kept somewhere in the room, one spy reporting by her side, another saying at the side of the room. If she was in her bedroom, he didn’t want to think about it...

They had hostages, hundreds, the scouts reported, with shock collars being held in the cells below the palace. Obi-Wan's compliance was their safety, Jango learnt, and faces with the torture of  ade , of anyone, he knew his beloved would comply, well and truly trapped.

Which meant he was relying on Jango to fix the situation.

He would fix it.

.

.

.

Their siege on Sundari could only work with the element of complete surprise, they knew, and Jango was  terrified they’d be too slow or too late and that she’d kill Obi-Wan, leverage or not.

That he’d arrive and she’d have a knife to his throat, that she’d slit it in front of him and he’d have to watch his  cyar’ika bleed out in front of him.

The thought alone, looping in his mind over and over and over again, brought bitter sorrow and burning anger and made his hands shake.

His  buir had noticed, kept sending him worried looks, though he knew there was nothing he could do except keep planning and save Obi.

Save their people.

The war was ending, one way or another.

If she killed Obi-Wan, Jango would kill her or break, and it was horrific that he wasn’t sure which.

One when together, one when parted, but if Obi-Wan died, part of him would die too, and if he couldn’t hold himself together to save the rest of his people, to fight her, to free the rest of them, if he faltered and she killed him...

And then in losing them both and her living, would  Jas’buir be able to continue on.

This was a big  siege to commit to, if it failed, even if they retreated...

They had to win this or they'd be  destroyed .

.

.

.

They entered the city as the dawn broke, taking or avoiding guards and watch posts and moving quietly through the streets, towards Sundari’s royal halls. As his Grunts made their final approach to the palace, the air attack started, and the rest of the troops arrived. 

He heard his  buir’s call through the comms, and the ‘Oya’ from every verd in the city.

Explosions and gunfire lit the city up and they moved, powering forwards through guards and doors and every defence.

They had to get to the throne room, to his riduur, to Obi.

The weight of the  Darksabre in his hand was  noticeable , almost distracting. His Buir had pressed it into his hand and closed his fingers around it.

“For that  dar’manda’s head," he’d said, “but I do want it back.”

He'd managed a small grin at that, and thanked his buir, before having to set off.

They probably hadn’t needed to use breach charges on the throne room door, but kriff it, he was pissed.

Kryze , the  dar’manda pretender, was on the throne, lounging, almost lazily.

His  riduur , oh his poor beloved  riduur , was on his knees next to her throne, the chain from his neck wrapped in her hand. 

His eyes went wide at the site of Jango, whole face shining with love and hope and  kriff , for a second Jango faltered, just relieved he was alive and so  so close.

He turned his attention back to her.

“Jango Fett."

“Huut’un’la  aruetii .”

She stood, still outwardly uncaring and aloof, 

“You think being here with your little squad means you’ve won. I still have the power here.”

She pressed a button on the remote in her hand, and Obi-Wan crumpled, writhing and crying out as it sparked.

His own scream tore from his throat of its own accord at the sight.

She seemed completely unconcerned,

“Guards, please arrest them."

The New Mandalorian guards moved forwards, but they were fighting highly-trained, enraged  Mandalorians , they didn’t stand a chance. Satine wasn’t a good fighter, but she had a stun blaster, and she had the button that could end his  riduur’s life, and the chain to the collar around his neck.

She wasn’t a  fighter , he was.

She wasn’t in armour, he was.

Faster than she could react the whipcord had the remove she’d been using in his own hand and the electricity disabled, before he was flying forwards her, dodging her stuns and diving for her, causing her to drop the chain. She dodged the first few blows, but she had no skill, and no guards.

He had his buir’s darksabre.

It was one swing of his blade to take cut her neck, clean through.

Jango had never moved faster than in that moment, the  darksabre deactivating and going to his hip as he dropped to his  riduur’s side, likely before  Kryze’s head had hit the floor, not that he was looking or cared. 

He needed to know he was alive, well, safe.

“Obi, cyar’ika?”

He was panting, body still shaking, but his eyes met Jango  shakily .

“Jango?”

“I’m here,  cyare , it’s ok, you’re safe, it’s over.”

He bundled his  riduur into his arms, feeling him curl into Jango’s hold, head comfortably settled on his  shoulder , and Jango draped his cloak over him for warmth and comfort and to cover slightly more than those awful revealing clothes that  dar’manda had forced him into. Forced him to wear for her own enjoyment.

“Jango, Jango, oh, you’re here. You're here."

“I am, I'm here, it’s ok.”

“The  ade , the  haat’ad prisoners, free them.”

“Silas has a team doing it right now. It's ok, cyar’ika, she's dead, the war is over, it’s all over, we won.”

Obi-Wan let out a small sob and shuddered closer into him. 

Around them, verde were being freed, the New Mandalorians were being rounded up, baar’ur were rushing around giving medical aid to those who needed it. He didn’t notice most of it, because he had his riduur back, and he was alive and things would be ok.

“ Alor’ad , I need to look over him.”

He looked up, seeing a  baar’ur bending over them.

“Obi?”

“I'm fine, Baar’ur, sore, cold, hungry, little bit singed, but I'm ok.”

“Please, that was a lot of electricity for a long time, let me look you over.”

“Let them take a look, Obi, please.”

“Ok, but there are other people who need it more.”

“You’re our Alor’ad’Riduur.”

He held his Obi-Wan tight as he was checked over, not liking how pale he was nor how thin he was nor how much he shivered and shook, not one bit.

Fortunately, the initial check showed nothing that Obi himself hadn’t listed, and a prescription of nothing but rest and recovery, long though it may be. A new check by a proper baar’ur rather than a field one might and probably would show more, but for the time being, Jango was satisfied. Though he’d feel better when he had Obi-Wan home and safe.

They helped remove the cuff on his neck, cautious that the clothes were  attached to the collars and that he’d be almost completely nude if they were removed, probably part of their purpose.

He scooped up Obi-Wan in his arms, making sure the cloak was keeping him fully covered and warm and nodded to his Buir as he made their way to the ship to get back to  Keldabe . It wasn’t the shortest flight, but as soon as they were on  board, they were alone, aside from the pilot in the sealed cockpit.

“Ob’ika, I've been so worried.”

“I’m ok Jango, she didn’t hurt me badly. She didn’t force me to do anything...”

“Our spies said she had you with her the whole time, even in her room, I was so scared for you.”

“She didn’t do anything, Jango, I slept on the floor but she didn’t do anything. She said she wouldn’t until you were dead or captured so I'd be grieving or you’d be forced to watch or...”

His voice choked and trained off and Jango held him closer still, pressing soft kisses to his forehead and wiping away the tears.

“She’s dead,  ner cyar’ika , we’re safe. Mandalore is free.”

“Thank you, for coming, for saving us.”

“I swore I would. I'm yours forever,  cyare , always. You would not have  stopped for anything if our situations were reversed.”

“Of course I would.”

It was in his arms, with the gentle vibrations of the ship, that Obi-Wan slipped into the peaceful sleep he’d had since he’d been taken, and Jango relaxed for the first time since he’d found out about it.

.

.

.

In the days that followed,  Jas’buir took his place as the  Mand’alor of all  Mandalore , almost every clan uniting under his rule, the  dar’manda New  Mandalorians and  Kyr’tsad that refused to bow being exiled or executed. Sundari was restored to its once brilliant glory, it’s people returning with passion and  vigour to return it to the home it should always have been.

Refugees and evacuees flocked back to their homes across the sector, families reunited after days or months or years separated. Verde returned home, back from the fight and ready to settle, to see their children, for the first time in some cases, and the orphans were quickly adopted or brought into societies like  MeliDaan with supervision but no direct adult intervention or ‘families’ the way they galaxy typically saw them.

Things like farming and rebuilding took longer, because those weren’t processes that could just be rushed, and the war had decimated some places almost totally, but they found solutions for those problems too, new trade deals, new farming techniques, hells, Obi-Wan got in contact with the  Jetiise for the first time since he left at 13 to ask if their  AgriCorps could send aid to help rebuild some of the land to become liveable and farmable again, and to oversee treaties with the Republic as they recovered, on  Jas’buir’s behalf.

Obi-Wan's recover had been longer than Jango had expected, not because any of his injuries had been outwardly severe, there had been no whipping or maiming or any of the horrific things they’d worried about, but because the shocks from his collar had done some damage to his heart and his ordeal had left him exhausted. But he regained his weight and his muscle, he built up his strength and his stamina, kept his anger in check every time he stumbled or needed to sit or lost his breath or his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. His mind was as sharp as ever, and he had refused to stop doing what he could for his people, even if it was mostly from behind a desk, something that had bought the admiration of their people.

His sacrifices and the energy he put into their home and their people and their future... how could any of their people not love him for it.

Jango woke one morning, Obi-Wan in his arms, soundly asleep and soft and warm and safe, and realised with a shock it had been a whole five years since the war had ended.

Five years.

Five years since he’d saved his  riduur from that dar’manda, a year since he’d brought him home, removed his cuffs and cleaned his wounds and started the recovery of their home and people.

A soft kiss pressed the corner of his lips.

“ Morning cyare.”

“Morning  Ob’ika .”

“You were thinking.”

“A true crime.”

“ Truely . How long do you think we have?”

“Not enough, I'm sure, but...” 

Jango rolled them over so Obi was on his back and he was on top, and started smothering him in complements and kisses, taking his time to show every part of him that he was adored and loved, something Obi was just so beautifully receptive too. 

“You’re soft, Jango, soft and sappy, Myles is right.”

Jango caressed his face, before lowering himself down to press his face into the crack between his head and neck and whisper sweet love and affection, Obi-Wan returning it in the same tone, trading kisses that didn’t need fire or passion, just love and trust.

“ Buire ,  Buire , wake upppppp!”

He dropped his head and sighed into Obi-Wan's shoulder.

“We’ll finish this later?”

“Later. Let’s get Boba some breakfast before he tries to do it himself.”

There was a crash from the kitchen and their 4-year old’s shriek of panic and amusement.

“Too late.”

**Author's Note:**

> Mando'a:  
> ade- children  
> Mand'alor- Sole Leader of Mandalore  
> Mando'ade- mandalorians  
> Haat Mando'ade- True mandalorians  
> Kyr'tsad- Death Watch  
> Haat'ad- true mandalorians, short version  
> cyare- beloved  
> riduur- spouse  
> buir- parent  
> ven'riduur-fiance  
> beskar'gam- mandalorian armour  
> buy'ce-helmet  
> Riduur'be'Alor'ad- spouse of the child of the sole leader  
> jetiise- Jedi(plural)  
> Jetii- Jedi (singular)  
> verde- soldiers  
> Riduurok- marriage vows  
> Mando'ade- mandalorian  
> kute- under armour  
> Huut'un'la- cowardly  
> Demagolka- child abusers, war criminals, monsters  
> kute'e- multiple kute  
> Alor'ad- child of the sole ruler/ prince/princess  
> dar'manda- not mandalorian.  
> Ka'ra- ancient ruling council, stars.  
> Haat, Ijaa, Kote. Munit oyacyir Mandalore- Truth, Honour, Glory. Long Live Mandalore.  
> Jan'ika- Little Jango (affectionate)  
> cyar'ika- darling/sweetheart  
> Jas'buir- Parent Jaster  
> Oya- lets hunt, battle cry  
> Aruetii- outsider/traitor  
> Baar'ur- doctors/medics  
> Alor'ad'riduur- princes spouse.  
> ob'ika- little obi-wan (affectionate)  
> ner cyar'ika- my darling/ my sweetheart  
> buire- parents
> 
> Hojaverde- doesn't mean anything in Mando'a but it's loosely green leaf in Spanish and verde means soldiers in Mando'a so...
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.  
> My Tumblr is One_Real_Imonkey.  
> Thanks to those who read stories through this Jangobi week, it's been great fun and for the stories that might get more, that should be soon.  
> Please R+R.


End file.
